Culinary Mishap
by Winged-Violoncelle
Summary: Thranduil is NOT happy, when a birthday dinner for his dearest son does not quite go as planned. Father's Day Special.


**A/N: Another one-shot from me within a few hours! I'm on a roll :). **

**Book-verse or movie-verse. This is a Father's Day special, short and hopefully sweet. It can also fit into my other story _Chasing the Light_ as a piece of the past. Enjoy :). Leaving a review or some constructive criticism would really make my day/week!**

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**Culinary Mishap**

Thranduil was ready to be in a very bad mood.

He couldn't quite fathom the… peculiar, shall we say, taste that lingered in his mouth. There was half-raw meat. There was excess salt. There were pieces of vegetables not thoroughly cleaned, and dust particles crunched as Thranduil chewed. And there was _burnt bread_. How in the world could any Elf, or any free person in Middle-earth, _burn bread_? All these pure awful aspects mixed together to form a most atrocious flavour and texture, and the more Thranduil chewed on, the more he wanted to storm into the kitchen and royally reprimand his cook.

His cook was on holiday, in fact. Which _had_ to be the explanation of this altogether dreadful meal. The fact that it was meant to be a special, private birthday meal with his son did not at all help Thranduil's anger. Neither did the fact that his beloved wife, who had always helped calm him when his temper got a little trying, had not yet returned from her latest visit to Imladris.

His young son Legolas sat next to him, sipping his soup and watching his father with intent care and anticipation, not seeming at all to mind the fact that such "soup" tasted no different from water. In seeing his son's eyes shine in some evident pleasant emotion, Thranduil felt a little easier, relieved that his son's mood, at least, was not spoiled by this awful dinner.

"Is this not a very good meal, Ada? I especially like the chicken! Ada, won't you please give it a try?" on seeing his father curiously inspect him, Legolas declared happily and requested, gesturing his fork eagerly at the dish.

Thranduil looked at the chicken and nearly turned green. The skin of the poor food had practically turned charcoal, and there were many bits of red _liquid _near the tendons. It seemed anything but edible. But before Thranduil could think up a subtle refusal, Legolas had already stuffed a piece onto his dish. The Woodland king, not wanting to upset his son, could only stretch his face, force a very uncomfortable grin, and deliver a piece of such "chicken" into his mouth.

The thing nearly broke poor Thranduil's teeth! It was definitely unnatural for chicken, or _any_ type of meat, to _crunch loudly_ amidst chews. While the skin, if it was still allowed to be called such, was hard as dragon scales and tasted like smoke, the meat on the inside was rubbery and raw, and Thranduil could still taste the blood.

The king felt nearly nauseated, but on seeing his son watching in happy anticipation, Thranduil awkwardly stretched a smile and decided that he would attempt to swallow this piece at least. But finishing this chicken was no easy task. The more Thranduil masticated, the bluer he turned, until such a fowl odour has accumulated within his mouth that he could no longer control the dam that held back his anger.

Legolas nearly jumped out of his skin when his father suddenly thrust his fist against the table, making a very loud noise and sending several dishes flying into the air. The clueless prince was even more astonished when his father abruptly stood and screamed in spite and disgust, after hatefully spitting out the "chicken" as if it were poison, "_Orthor_! Get in here!"

Orthor was one of Thranduil's favourite butlers, and one who knew Thranduil's ways well. The moment he heard Thranduil's tone he knew that the king was very seriously displeased (though others would probably have figured this out quite easily too), and he entered with his head low, showing the most humility and obedience that he could possibly muster, "Yes, your majesty?"

"Did I not ask you to find me an excellent cook to replace Lumornon for the week?" the Elven king fumed and glared, his voice full of accusation. Orthor stole a glance from the king to the stunned prince, and, knowing that there was no getting away from trouble tonight, sighed and replied with the volume of a mosquito, "Yes, your majesty."

Thranduil's eyes almost became bloodshot with fury, as he grumbled in all dissatisfaction, "Then maybe you would care to explain to me exactly _why_ there is _nothing edible_ on this dinner table? This may be a private dinner, but it is a dinner for the birthday of my son! And _this_ is what you give us to feast on? Do you call this _food_? Is it really a _cook_ you have found to replace Lumornon? Speak, Orthor! I do not have the patience to wait forever for your response!"

Devastated, Orthor cast another glance at the young prince. The poor little Elfling was so frightened and disheartened that he was biting his lip and almost on the brink of tears. The sight of young Legolas evoked so much sympathy in the loyal butler, and with determination Orthor decided to take all responsibility.

"I am deeply sorry, my King Thranduil. I may have been deceived by the replacement cook and have neglected my duty." He responded and held his head a little higher, almost as if he was committing a heroic deed. This, of course, only made the king angrier. "Oh, Orthor! You have never failed me before like so! The replacement must have been a very sly fellow to have deceived even you. Well, I shall show him that I am not to be trifled with! Show me to the kitchen, Orthor. I will personally speak with this abomination."

Orthor opened his mouth to respond but could not, and only stole more sheepish glances at Legolas with a great look of dilemma on his face. At his hesitation Thranduil only fumed more. "Are you not going to lead the way, Orthor? So be it. I am going to the kitchen and lecturing that fellow all the same, for ruining my son's birthday meal and forcing my son to eat such… _things_!"

Orthor became very frightened when the king stormed away from his seat and was really about to head for the kitchen, and wondered how he should explain the whole ordeal, when Thranduil eventually finds out that there was in fact _no_ replacement cook. Luckily for Orthor, the king was stopped. Legolas clutched onto his gown just in time, before he stepped past the doorsill.

"Please don't blame Orthor, Ada!" the Elfling pleaded, and there were tears in his large eyes, "It was because of me that Orthor failed in his duties. I volunteered, nay, I bothered Orthor about it. _I_ am the 'replacement cook'."

Thranduil's train of anger was immediately cut off, and he turned and knelt to face his son in disbelief and in wonder, "_You_ are the replacement cook?"

Legolas bit his lip and nodded repeatedly. Orthor saw the countenance of the king change from one of wonder to one full of regret and warm fatherly love, and decided it was time for him to leave the dining room.

Thranduil was now inwardly thrashing himself for his stupidity. He should have known! Why _else_ could his son withstand the food? Why _else_ would his son eagerly recommend to him all the dishes? Why _else_ would his son seem so happy, when the food on the table would've made any living being in Middle-earth miserable? Thranduil cursed himself even more when he saw tears fall from his son's eyes, and with a loving sigh he placed his hands atop his young son's shoulders and asked softly, "My dear son, why should you choose to cook on such a special day? It should be a day full of repose and relaxation. Why did you tire yourself like so?"

Legolas replied in between small sobs, "I just really wanted to thank Ada and Nana for everything, you know. It _is_ my birthday, but I couldn't have grown up so much without all the care from Ada and Nana. I'm sorry, Ada. If I'd known I was such a horrible cook I wouldn't have done it. I really didn't mean to upset you, Ada. Please don't be angry or blame Orthor, won't you?"

Thranduil looked at his young son in overwhelming affection, and he almost felt tears, too, as he pulled his son into a warm embrace, "My dear, dear Legolas! Angry at you! I am blessed to have you as my child. Ultimately it is not the food that is important; it is the heart and the thoughts that matter, Legolas. And let me tell you that by showing me your culinary skills on your special day, you have made me one of the happiest fathers in Arda."

"Really?" Legolas asked in glee, as Thranduil released him and wiped away his tears. A cheerful grin returned to the young prince's face, as he saw Thranduil nod affectionately with a smile.

"And your food is not all bad, you know," after a short pause, Thranduil added, "The soup was quite… refreshing. And so were the vegetables. They could have been washed a little better, but their taste is genuinely not bad."

"Oh, Ada, you lie!" Legolas laughed and clapped in delight, "You don't even notice that you're scowling in remembrance!"

"Am I?" Thranduil raised his eyebrows dubiously, but, on seeing his son return to high spirits, he joined his laughter. "Well, let us return to our feast. Now that I know this meal comes from your hands and your heart, I shall very much like to try all the dishes, even if some of them do not… exactly suit my taste."

Legolas nodded with a large grin, and the two were about to return to their seats when a knock came from the door. "Come in," Thranduil commanded, and the door clicked open. It was Orthor, with a satisfied smile at his lips.

"The newest batch of Dorwinion wine has arrived, your majesty."

"Ah, good," Thranduil exclaimed, genuinely brightened by such news, "Bring me a barrel. I shall like to drink to the health and happiness of my dearest son."

As Orthor departed Thranduil winked at Legolas and whispered, "I will teach you how to drink like a true Elf before your mother returns, my dear Legolas."

Legolas couldn't be happier at the news.

When the Queen of Mirkwood returned that night, she found the father and the son fast asleep at the dinner table, with an unfinished barrel of Dorwinion wine and plenty of dishes that looked and smelled odd on the table. The Elf lady was quite ready to shake her husband awake and voice her disapproval, though upon approaching the duo, she saw pure smiles of blithe at the lips of both. Such smiles were so contagious that they affected the Queen, too, and she could only shrug and give a resigned, amused sigh.

"Bonding perfectly as usual, these two."


End file.
